


Well, that was unexpected.

by Greyheart3



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: And Sherlock was a perfect excuse, Dragon Age Inquisition came to mind, Dragon!John, Dragon!Sebastion, Dragonfied military men?, I just wanted to write some dragon fights, John is a BAMF dragon, Maybe - Freeform, Maybe Jim?, Minor Character Death, One-Shot, Sherlock is pretty surprised, Violence, also a maybe, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6162521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyheart3/pseuds/Greyheart3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was reading some fics and felt inspiration to draw / write some big dragon battles vuv. I was like: What if John and Sherlock were on a case and Sebastian appeared and he was also a dragon decided to beat the shit outta our favourite doctor?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well, that was unexpected.

When you wake up in the morning, one simply doesn't think about the consequences of your actions from weeks, years past, you just don't; not even if you're Sherlock Holmes and you have lots of enemies. Most certainly not. Well, in this small tale you will be taught why it is a good decision to ponder your life choices when you have many foes.

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Blue eyes with fleck of gold were revealed as a rather tired dragon opened its eyes as his friend - Sherlock Holmes - grabbed his muzzle in a demanding hold and violently shook his head around from where it had rested on his hands? Paws? Well none the less John had been efficiently disturbed by this human. Shaking his hands off with ease before sending him a glare and even bothering to trying to listen to him babble, never ending, figuring it was important to their most recently finished case he clued in.

"-competence of Anderson's Forensic photos are quite appalling! I mean look at these grainy photos! Taking in photography courses up until Uni should be a mandatory requirement! He puts to shame the artistic talent required to use lighting! Don't get me wrong John, I'm no photographer but I can appreciate art! Oh and let us forget - Well you probably will in a few days but - how the Serial Killer even disposed of the evidence! Into a trash bag and left at a public dock! I feel like I should have the personal gall to pity his work! Shame! You should have just lit the man on fire John, saved Gary the effort of even arresting that pile of.. of... sin!" Wailed the Consulting Detective. Giving an irritated scoff, and with a decisive snort he got to his feet, shoving his friend over as he strolled to the coat rack and then coolly looking at his flat mate.

"What is it John? Did little Timmy fall down the well?" Clearly Sherlock was antsy enough to make jokes he probably didn't even get. John gave a low groan as he delicately grasped the Belstaff in his jaws and pulled it over to Sherlock whom firmly grasped it within his hands with a confused expression before pulling it on. Assured that Sherlock was making his way over and not going to chuck something in a fit of random spurt of rage; John wiggled out onto the landing before descending the stairs, the doorway having been improved upon while he grew. Speaking of growing, John wasn't even at his true size, while dragons could shift their sizes it could never be drastic like being the size of a mouse or as big as a sperm whale. Dragons are measured in hands, like horses despite it being very time consuming, John's true size is or was sixty hands, so he was a touch smaller than most dragons. Whilst right now he stood at about forty hands.

Shoving himself out of the door and onto the street he turned to watch Sherlock close the door behind him with a quiet snick. Nodding John gestured down the road, a single word hanging in between them from that simple gesture: Walk? And how could Sherlock possibly deny John the luxury of a walk when not tailing a murderer or two? Stretching into his full size and getting comfortable John set the pace between them, Sherlock on the occasion would pester him with something ridiculous or tell them that they absolutely must go down this alley way for no apparent reason other than to 'mix it up.'

Well, that's precisely when it went wrong, believe it or not, Sherlock hadn't had the whole of London mapped, so when they went down and alley way Sherlock had gotten rather furious, there must have been an error or this was his own fault or perhaps this alley way was some how knew and he didn't know.

And to John this seemed almost like a warning, he didn't like this feeling settling down his gut, pale golden scales unable to reflect the disappearing light, most likely due to the thick rain clouds moving over head, this alley-way was wide with an end, giving John the space to shift to his proper size, placing Sherlock behind him as he gave a growl into the air, and in the end John was glad that Sherlock was under him when the ear-splitting screech sounded and moments after debris was showering down on them from the building beside them, raining down on the reptile. 

John gave his own roar of challenge as he shoved Sherlock out of the alley way, fully aware this alley was to be some sort of arena. Whipping his long spiny tail around and knocking it into the walls and flaring his wings with another screech. And soon after another ear-drum bursting screech sent another wall showering down and blocking the exit to the alley way, well, for Sherlock and at this point that was a good thing. John is aware of Sherlocks protest as well as the stocky shape firing towards him, mouth aflame with blue colouring, something extremely concentrated and powerful.

And the moment it was released John ducked and protected himself with flared wings from raining debris but it left an opening and before he knew it he was brought to the ground, head slammed to the ground with a massive grey foot, flaws digging into his hard scales. Smoke rising from his nostrils in anger John flipped the offending dragon, jaws agape as he was prepared to slaughter it on the spot. This dragon had put Sherlock in danger and therefore needed to go, and this motto only made his convictions stronger as he identified it as a fellow war dragon. Sebastian Moran.

Sebastian wouldn't go down easy as the first spurts of blue-fire erupted from Johns jaws, unlike Moran he had to warm it up in his throat, his belly and that took precious time and John knew he knew it. Sebastian's foot drove home to Johns face and bad shoulder, chucking him to the ground like a puppy and driving his powerful jaws into John's fore-leg, ripping and tearing and John gave a howl. Fire soon lit up the air before singing Morans dull dog-teeth like spines along his back, nerve endings sensitive. Sebastian gave a ripple along his back as he slammed a paw into Johns jaw, his own mouth securing tightly along Johns throat. 

Writhing John brought his better leg down Morans own throat with a vengeance, ripping scales off as his tail whipped and hit whatever he could reach. Thankfully John must have found something much more sensitive when Moran released with a screech, leaving John the window to send blue-fire at his throat, sensitive flesh reverberating with the shock of it. Pushing up and Moran stumbling back, John gave it in bursts not giving him the chance to react. Standing back on his back legs John brought his large feet down onto Morans inner-shoulders, slamming him into the wall repeatedly.

Pumping with adrenaline John clasped his jaws tightly around Morans own, fire momentarily at a stand still as he swung his neck and head around, paws not moving as a sickening and very audible crack sounded through the air. As soon as John released it a howl could be heard, a crooked jaw hardly unable to open. With blood sliding down Morans throat John gave a triumphant roar, hardly minding as he was slammed to the ground in a fit of rage. John knew he won the battle, but with a set of armoured claws like Morans he could still be easily flayed. Speaking of Morans claws they were violently ripping apart throat scales, which was really hurting a lot. Blood was welling at the freshly-removed scales, so in an end to his and no doubt Morans own misery he brought his good arm and collided it with Morans jaw, snapping it from bone, skin and flesh the only thing keeping it together and with one more powerful blow to Morans throat ended it. Morans cooling body kept John pinned in place for a few moments before John could shove him off.

Giving a triumphant yet a little broken roar into the air and setting the sky alight John finally limped to the exit, pushing apart debris as he looked down at the defeated looking Sherlock, giving him a gruff sound of annoyance the gold dragon gave Sherlock a soft nudge. Sherlock looked up with shock, probably for he must have been immersed in his Mind Palace again. "John! You're bleeding!" John scoffed, he tells him not to state the obvious but Sherlock can do it! Giving a reassuring rumble John nudged Sherlock to his feet, before slumping to the ground with a grunt. This seemed to cause Sherlock even more alarm. "No no no John! This will not do! Get up! We'll go see one of this daft dragon vets and get you fixed up!" Sherlock shoved at his bloodied face, shaking it with a violence that'd make all of London's criminals proud.

But John only closed his heavy golden eye-lid, resting his head on his feet he pulled Sherlock in with his tail with a contented sigh.

 

 

Later, John could only be confused on how he got back to Baker Street with heavily padded wounds and wrapped in bubble-wrap, and at his full size too with Sherlock snuggled into his under side next to the fire-place almost just like how they were like at the beginning of the day. And even later it would be relayed that Sebastian Moran was declared dead after whom had acted in a fit of grief and rage and attacked John for his beloved Jim Moriarty's death from over three years ago. 

 

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Not beta'd or proof-read. Too boring to do that.


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